Saturday, 25 January 2014

'U ma fave.'

It's just baffling to think... No, he doesn't want a 5 ft.4 petite perky and perfectly formed princess with long hair, sleeve tattoos and a stomach you could grate cheese on - a girl who dances and sings, who eats steak and kicks ass on the Xbox.
He wants... Me. A girl who can never seem to grow her hair past her shoulders, reads far too much young adult fiction, eats soya beans with every meal, constantly changes her mind about who she is or where she wants to be; an avid tweeter, needy drunk, wannabe writer and occasional actress. 
He likes me when I'm sitting on the sofa eating multiple slices of toast slathered in Nutella, when I'm staring at him bleary-eyed and slurring my words; when I'm having a panic attack in front of my computer struggling to finish an assignment; when I'm browsing in Camden Markets for hours; when I'm being a complete bitch and moaning about something that isn't even that important... When I have no makeup on. When I'm blonde, and when I'm brunette. Whatever. He likes me all the time. 
And that... That is a very unfamiliar sensation.


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